


Best of Men

by Northernsociety



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is a Mess, Angst and Feels, Crying, Historical Inaccuracy, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Sad Alexander Hamilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25471027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northernsociety/pseuds/Northernsociety
Summary: The first time it happens, Alexander Hamilton recognises how ugly it is. But that doesn’t stop him from stepping aside to let Aaron Burr into his tent two days after he received the letter from John Laurens’ father.
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Alexander Hamilton, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	Best of Men

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try a bit of a different style. I'd love to know what you think.

The first time it happens, Alexander Hamilton recognises how ugly it is. But that doesn’t stop him from stepping aside to let Aaron Burr into his tent two days after he received the letter from John Laurens’ father. Without preamble, Alexander sinks to his knees and tries to make himself feel whole. Burr barely makes a sound, and that’s good, supposes Alex. It helps him to forget whose thighs he’s kneeling between. Whose hands are tangled roughly in his hair.

Alexander can’t say he enjoys what they do, but still he doesn’t turn away the man who turns up at his tent (almost every night now), a few tankards of something worse for wear. Instead, he imagines the weight on top of him is lighter, the muscles leaner, the rhythm softer. He imagines the smell of cinnamon and tobacco smoke and the texture of wild curls between his fingers.

There are certain parts of his body he will not let Burr touch. He is worried if Burr’s hands graze the back of his neck or the small of his back, he will erase the last trace of John Laurens. Nor will he let Burr’s lips touch his, although the bruises that bloom across Alexander’s chest are testament to the other ways in which Burr occupies his mouth during their meetings.

Alexander is glad they don’t speak when they are doing what they do. Instead he prays. Not to God. He stopped believing in God the moment he read those words in the letter. Words he wishes could be unseen. But he knows John Laurens will be listening. 

_Why aren’t you here?_

He feels the weight of Aaron Burr shift above him, strong hands pinning him in place.

_Why did you have to go and fucking die?_

Alexander feels ashamed that his cheeks are damp and his breath is leaving his body in quiet sobs. But Burr doesn’t stop and Alexander doesn’t want him to. Instead, he turns his head to the side, squeezes his eyes tight shut.

_Why is this not you? Why did you leave me? Dearest John._

It never gets less ugly, but those moments are the closest Alexander gets to feeling whole. The warmth of another human, the weight of another man. It might not be John Laurens, but it’s something. 

When it’s all over and Alexander is left alone, naked and unfulfilled, he curls up and closes his eyes. He feels the ghost of a touch on the back of his neck, the ghost of a kiss on his lips. Salty sweat, soft lips, calloused hands. The best of men.


End file.
